


Body of Evidence

by Josey (cestus), junko



Series: Shattered Souls [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/Josey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psychological warfare has begun at Urahara’s shōten, but Renji makes a surprise request that turns everything on its head....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body of Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergence that takes place after the Aizen’s betrayal and before the Bount Arc.

Renji decided that Tessai Tsukabishi scared the crap out of him. 

Maybe it was because he was huge. The guy was nearly as tall as Kenpachi and built like a wall of muscles. It always freaked Renji out to have to look up at someone, especially one frowning down at him so sternly, his eyes hidden by reflective square glasses. For some reason the absurdity of Tessai’s old-fashioned handlebar moustache and severe cornrow ponytails only added to the intimidation factor.

Or, perhaps the other thing that put Renji on edge was all that funky spiritual pressure swirling around Tessai like a mist. Tessai stunk of magic. His reiatsu was slippery, not at all like straight-forward fighting strength. It was hard to get a bead on, always shifting and changing, yet undeniably powerful. Tessai’s reiatsu filled Renji’s nose with the incense-smoky scent of dark enchantment―conjuring childhood fears of the things that crawled out from under the bed, haunted graveyards, and ruled nightmares.

That’s probably why Renji took the broom Tessai thrust at him without protest. In fact, Renji meekly ducked out from under that fierce stare and started sweeping the front room of the shop without even a word from Tessai about what needed doing. 

He glanced over his shoulder at where the big man stood watching him, with his massive arms crossed in front of the bright blue apron. Renji gave Tessai a little dutiful, submissive nod as if to say ‘see, I’m doing it. Don’t hurt me.’

And Renji thought high school sucked.

Inside the gigai, Renji could feel Zabimaru growl. 

_Shhhh! Dude has kidō,_ Renji reminded Zabimaru. _You trying to get us killed?_

Renji sensed something that sounded like a petulant, impatient sigh. 

He felt bad for Zabimaru. It must be particularly degrading for the zanpakutō to be stuffed into such a restrictive space, especially since they’d so recently achieved bankai. Zabimaru, Renji knew since the zanpakuto had hardly stopped complaining about it, was as frustrated as he was to be jammed into such a feeble, pathetic doll. Maybe he could talk to Urahara about it. After all, Zabimaru was his own soul; shouldn’t he get his own body?

Renji thought about that as he continued to sweep the floor. _If you had to be a human and not a nue, would you be a boy or a girl or...?_ Renji asked Zabimaru.

 _Both,_ they said in unison.

 _Hmmm,_ Renji thought, _I wonder what that means about me._

 _That your soul is evolved,_ the deep voice of the baboon king said. Then, with another deep, irritated sigh, it added, _though that’s hard to believe most days._

The tail rattled its agreement.

The bells above the door jingled. Renji glanced up to see if the shop was actually going to have a real customer, though he wasn’t even sure what this place was pretending to sell. But, it was only Urahara. He had a paper shopping bag that seemed to be full of... medical supplies and... bananas?

Jeez, that weirdo creeped Renji out, too.

But, it seemed like an omen, so Renji set the broom against the wall and beat Tessai to the offer of, “Can I carry that for you, sir?” 

Tessai’s mouth hung open and his hand paused in gesture of offering to do the same.

Urahara appeared flattered at the sudden attention of two solicitous men. He glanced between them briefly before giving Renji a small sly smile and handing over the bag, “Certainly, Abarai-fukutaichō.”

Urahara let Tessai take his coat. Renji briefly worried that Tessai would follow them back into the bowels of the store, but, after sliding the door open for them, Tessai went his own way. 

Always far too observant for Renji’s comfort, Urahara glanced at him from under the shadow of his hat. “Is there something you want to ask me, Abarai-fukutaichō?”

Well, why not get right to the point? Renji shifted the bag. “Do you think you could make one of these things for Zabimaru?” With his free hand, Renji indicated his gigai. 

That actually seemed to surprise Urahara. Stopping suddenly in the hall, he made a little choking sound, and asked, “I’m sorry, what?” Renji opened his mouth to repeat his request, when Urahara waved him off, “You do realize, don’t you, that if your zanpakutō has its own gigai, you’ll be unarmed if you have to transform into spirit form?”

Renji shook his head. “I bet I’d still have shikai.”

“Oh, you do, do you? And, you base this on what research, exactly?”

“Instinct,” Renji said with a shrug. “Anyway, he’s been externalized a ton of times. When we were training for bankai, I still had shikai. Why wouldn’t it be the same?”

Urahara must be thinking intently about this, because suddenly the fan flicked out of nowhere and opened in front of his face. It fluttered there for a long moment. Finally, he closed it with a snap and said, “It might be an interesting experiment. You would be... comfortable splitting your soul like this?”

Something cold stabbed at Renji’s gut at the hungry sort of gleam in Urahara’s eyes. But, Zabimaru purred excitedly at the idea of being free, so Renji said, “Yeah, of course. Why not?”

#

Why not indeed. For the first time in years Kisuke felt a flush of genuine excitement at the prospect of some real research. Stuck here in the living world had radically constrained the scope of his forays into his primary area of interest. Which was the soul, of course. To the true shinigami scientist, no other subject was worthy of study. Using living humans for such research was the quickest way to bring down the wrath of the Gotei 13 that Kisuke could think of, thus since his exile he'd been restricted to playing with his mod souls. Which, however useful, were never quite the same as the real thing.

Before it had been different. In Soul Society he had been able to request volunteers and, failing enough of those, there were always the denizens of the Nest of Maggots. He was always careful not to damage them or cause undue suffering, of course. Yoruichi would have strung him by something personal and painful if he'd been so foolish as to do that. 

Others hadn't been so careful, and had paid the price. Others again, had been more careful still and had only just been revealed as the scum they were. In Soul Society morals were often a matter of who talked fastest, walked the most quietly, and had the most influential friends.

Which brought him neatly back to Abarai-fukutaichō, who was eyeing him warily and shifting from foot to foot.

Kisuke allowed a slight smile to curl his lips and let his gaze linger for an extra moment or two. Did he know, Kisuke wondered, how this would be regarded in Soul Society? How he would be perceived as an aberration for even considering such a thing? Probably not but the opportunity was too good to waste without even a cursory investigation and had the added bonus of leaving Abarai even further in Kisuke’s debt if it went ahead. 

After a moment he let Abarai off his tenterhook, turning on his heel and striding off towards his secondary lab, saying, "So be it. I'll need you in soul form if we're to do this. Leave the gigai in your room and come find me when you're ready." 

There was little in the way of preparation to make. Kisuke knew the theory, even if he'd never carried out the process himself. Mayuri's notes, long ago memorised and destroyed, contained everything he needed to know. And separating Abarai's soul would be easier than the newly dead humans Mayuri had used. Since he could manifest Zabimaru already, the long, tedious, often painful, forced extrusion of one soul from another could be bypassed entirely. It would simply be a matter of stabilising the zanpakutō as a separate entity and fitting it into a gigai.

The scratch on the door came about an hour later, though still sooner than Kisuke had expected. Hand poised above the flask, Kisuke closed his eyes and brushed against the fukutaichō's reiatsu. He was jittery and nervous, yet felt committed.

 _What do you think, my love?_ he asked.

Benihime sighed languorously, her presence slipping through his mind like silk. _He seems willing enough_ , she purred. _And has excellent potential. Taste him and see._

_Hm. An excellent idea._

_It's why you love me._

A touch fluttered across his lips, lighter than a butterfly's wings and he blinked his eyes open. A taste it was then.

"Come," he called out, returning to his work and not bothering to emerge from behind the equipment. The door opened and sandalled feet shuffled in. For the briefest of moments, the sound of waraji on wood took Kisuke back a century, to his rooms at the twelfth, and when he looked up he half expected to see someone small and blond, not over six foot and crimson haired. Though the glowering features were somewhat familiar. Had Abarai ever met Hiyori? Probably not, though going by their accents they'd likely come from similar areas of the Rukongai.

"What district?" he asked, making an effort at conversation while he finished refining the fresh batch of extra strong soma fixer. Since Zabimaru was a nue, it was likely to find the gigai's human form difficult to stick to. 

A hesitation and slight flare of reiatsu followed his question and then, loudly and full of bravado, "Inuzuri."

How interesting, perhaps that also explained the attitude. Barring Hiyori, most of the high district shinigami Kisuke had known lied about their origins, perhaps embarrassed by them. 

"You must be very proud," he said, eyes till fixed on the tube. The colour was paling nicely. Soon, soon.

"Proud?"

Kisuke glanced up, surprised at the confusion in the fukutaichō's voice. He did indeed look a little perplexed, though Kisuke couldn't see why. "Of doing so well for yourself," he said. "It would take enormous strength of character and great tenacity to succeed as well as you have considering your background. Thus you should be proud. I'm sure your noble captain never faced such adversity during his illustrious career." 

He certainly hadn't during his childhood. If Kisuke remembered correctly the worst Byakuya ever faced was his grandfather, who had mellowed considerably in his old age. Egads, when he and Yoruichi had been little kids, Kuchiki Ginrei had been the bane of Seireitei, or at least the bits they'd been running wild through. Kisuke lost count of the number of times he'd taken the belt for Yoruichi thanks to one of Ginrei's complaints. 

The slight flush across Abarai's cheeks and the way he was glaring at his feet suggested he hadn't thought about his roots that way. Or if he had, he wasn't used to other people voicing the same. 

"I see class consciousness amongst the court guards is as healthy as ever," Kisuke murmured, and then carolled a happy, "Aha!" as the soma fixer gave a last sad gloop and solidified. Suspended in the right medium it could now be used as a soap or shampoo for easy application. One of Kisuke's better inventions, if he did say so himself.

"Right," he said cheerily, picking up his hat and plopping it back on his head. "First things first. If your zanpakutō wants a gigai, I need to find out what sort of gigai would be best. In order to do that, I need to touch it." He gave Abarai an intent look. "Not your sword, you understand, your zanpakutō. Do you understand what I'm asking?"

Something of a stricken expression passed over Abarai's face and he looked a little pale, but he answered quickly enough. "I think so, yeah. Taicho's... um... done that before. When I first got promoted."

"Yes, it's common practice," Kisuke assured him. "It helps to be familiar with all the zanpakutō below you, and is vastly more important for those you’ll be training personally." He gestured Abarai towards him, the young man was still hovering near the door as though considering making a break for it. "Over here, I won't bite." He paused, smirked and added, "Unless you ask nicely." 

Colour returned to Abarai's face and he took a step or three closer. When Kisuke pointed to the stool he'd been sat on, Abarai dutifully took it, looking about as comfortable as the proverbial cat in a rocking chair factory. 

"Ready?" Kisuke asked, holding out his hand. Abarai took a breath and then nodded, his powerful body relaxing in a way that had to be absolutely deliberate. Excellent, Kisuke thought, at least he didn't have to worry about being punched in the face. Not that Abarai would manage to hit him, but still. 

Touching another's zanpakutō was done with one's own reiatsu, thus it was something akin to touching souls. Kisuke being the more powerful of the two, and the one reaching out, would have the advantage. Abarai was effectively allowing him inside his soul. An attack during such a procedure could be deadly, so to allow it was to show a surprising level of trust. Briefly Kisuke wondered where that faith came from before he gathered his reiatsu, placed his hand on Zabimaru and sank into his mind.

Twin sets of fangs immediately lunged at him from the darkness, framing pink gaping mouths that hissed and roared. The air filled with the stench of rotting flesh and decay, and a paralyzingly vicious killing intent. Kisuke stood his ground, not expecting anything less from a demon. Benihime stepped between them, her veils forming an impenetrable barrier against which both venom and brute power impacted harmlessly. Zabimaru fell back with a bass growl and crouched on all fours, rocking slightly, his snake-tail curving up across his back and swaying like a cobra about to strike.

Kisuke removed his hat, held it to his chest and dipped the smallest of bows. In his experience it paid to be polite to zanpakutō. It often surprised them enough that they did what they were told without thinking about it. 

But he wasn't here to give orders. He was here to observe. Zabimaru's reiatsu curled around it like a cloak and, as Kisuke reached out, strands of it came, somewhat reluctantly, to meet him. The touch was brief. It didn't need to be more than that to allow him to fathom the shape of the soul he needed to accommodate.

It was... surprisingly mature. For all his youth, Abarai Renji had an old soul which had been through the cycle of death and rebirth many times. Given a century or two, he would achieve a level of power that would eclipse most of the current captains of the Gotei 13, if Kisuke were any judge. 

There was so much depth and power that there was almost enough to create three distinct beings let alone the typical two. Zabimaru alone had as much reiryoku as some lower seats. And along with the power of the tiger, the zanpakutō was also as wise as its monkey-form suggested and as patient as its snake. But more relevantly, as far as Kisuke was concerned, it had no fixed image of how it should look if stuck in a gigai. 

Unlike Benihime, who was most definitely female, Zabimaru didn't consider itself either male or female, though the term 'it' was probably wrong too. Zabimaru was not so much gender neutral as gender balanced, poised perfectly between and was thus both rather than neither. Interesting. Though the implication for Kisuke was simply that he could put it in either a male or female gigai without unfortunate ramifications. It was all rather convenient really.

Necessary information collected, Kisuke bowed again, this time in thanks, and withdrew. He had what he needed and a lot more besides. Benihime had been right; Abarai had been worth a taste.

#

Renji sat very still through the whole proceeding and concentrated on his own breathing. In some distant part of his brain, he could hear Zabimaru’s roars of protest of this intimate invasion. He had to grip his hakama to keep from pushing Urahara away violently.

But, despite what Urahara implied, this soul-meeting was hardly one-sided--at least, not in Renji’s experience. 

Maybe other people got nothing out of it, but Renji remembered the startling revelation of the first time he experienced this kind of touch with Byakuya. He’d expected the sweetness of cherry blossoms, but was left with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. From that moment on he knew better than to be fooled by outward appearances of genteelness and beauty. And he’d caught sight of Senbonzakura then, too. A flash in the corner of his eye had revealed a fast-moving, fully armoured, masked samurai. That was when Renji decided that Byakuya was always holding something back, keeping some secret-self hidden from the world. He still hadn’t sussed out his captain’s true self, but Renji long suspected that the brief glimpse of the man who went against the law to rescue his sister was closer than anything ever done by the tightly-controlled, perfect soldier.

So Renji waited now to see what, if anything, he could read about Urahara. No real surprise, the first impression was veils--yards and yards, layer upon layer of seemingly flimsy, falsely transparent, shimmering gauze. Nothing behind the fabric could be seen clearly. Everything was obscured, hidden, and indirect.

That seemed consistent with his impression of Urahara Kisuke so far. However, Renji did not expect the decidedly feminine scent of roses. A name floated at the edges of Renji’s consciousness: Benihime, Crimson Princess. 

Benihime appeared in his mind as a delicate, pale hand draped by the brocaded silk sleeve of a jūnihitoe of the deepest blood red. She held an elaborate fan the colour of fire and decorated with a golden phoenix and a pearlescent dragon. He could see nothing else, as her hand appeared out from behind a sudare, a privacy screen set up as a barrier for royalty or… a suitor. That coquettish impression was deepened by the bold, almost bawdy, full-throated laugh that echoed in Renji’s inner ear. 

What to make of that?

Layers. Just like Zabimaru had said. Nothing with Urahara would ever be what it seemed on the surface--and probably not even two or three levels down―there would be plots on plots on schemes on schemes, all the way down.

It was easy to want to leave it at that―after all, that was complicated enough. But the images on the fan felt significant. Wasn’t there a story involving a pearl dragon princess? And a phoenix? That was a rare and powerful creature, associated with the Empress, and a harbinger of either great harmony or disunity, sometimes both. And together, they were seen as constantly warring enemies or entwined lovers, yīnyáng. 

Exactly how powerful was this guy?

 _Fuck, we’re screwed, aren’t we?_ Renji asked Zabimaru.

If Zabimaru had an answer Renji never heard it because Urahara was stirring, rising out from the deep trance-like state he’d dropped into. “Fascinating, fascinating,” he muttered, as though to himself. “As tempting as it is to go with the full-on, spooky albino look, I think I’ll just give her gold-white hair. And, I suppose she’ll insist on some kind of markings like yours, but I think just a few on the shoulders would be fine… oh, or perhaps across the back. Ah, yes, I can give her a comforting impression of a snake’s tail that way as well. That should be enough. After all, she didn’t seem nearly as compulsive as you.”

Urahara was already walking away, but Renji’s voice stopped him at the doorway, “Wait a minute, ‘her’?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Urahara said with what seemed like genuine regret, though his fan snapped out to hide the face he kept mostly turned away. “But, ‘both’ is a touch awkward in the human world. Even though it happens, of course, the idea here isn’t necessarily to educate the world about gender variance or intersexedness. And, since she’ll be your companion, the truth of the matter is, being seen in female company will make you less threatening.”

 _Oh, I don’t think so,_ Renji thought with a shudder, remembering Benihime. _Look at yourself in the mirror sometime._

But since Urahara seemed to be waiting for a response, Renji shrugged, “As long as Zabimaru is happy with it.”

The fan snapped shut, and Urahara smiled broadly. “I’ll do my best!”


End file.
